


Freedom Came My Way One Day (and I started out of town)

by Jonaira



Category: Banshee (TV)
Genre: College, F/M, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Freedom, Gen, Healing, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Moving On, Parenthood, Post-Season/Series Finale, Prison, Rebirth, Road Trips, Unexpected Visitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonaira/pseuds/Jonaira
Summary: Some goodbyes are permanent, and some aren't.Codas to the S4 finale and Banshee Origins for S1 and S3. This won't make much sense unless you've watched the Origins shorts for the show as well. They're all up on YouTube, and totally worth your time !
Relationships: Lucas Hood & Job (Banshee), Lucas Hood/Carrie Hopewell, Lucas Hood/Siobhan Kelly
Comments: 7
Kudos: 5





	1. SIOBHAN

**Author's Note:**

> This show was an education, honestly. 
> 
> Also, title from I Shot the Sheriff by Bob Marley, because I've waited 4 seasons for someone to make that joke on-screen and it never happened.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After.

His first stop after getting the bike is the florist. So of course, he's promptly stumped when he gets there and it occurs to him that he's never actually visited a grave before. He hadn't been around for his parents' funerals either.

He has to swallow past the tightening of his throat when he realises that he doesn't know which kind of flowers she'd liked. Or if she'd even had a favourite.

They probably got a lot of lost-looking people like him come in here though, because the assistant behind the counter takes pity on him and leaves him with a list of which flowers mean what. 

In the end, he walks out a couple of hours later with the biggest wreath of red roses, peonies and calla lilies he can carry on the bike. He pays them an advance to have wreaths of the same size and same flowers made and delivered to her grave, twice a month for the next couple of years. He figured he'd be back in Banshee long before that anyway. The time frame was just a precaution.

He'd considered having the wreaths sent over to the trailer as well, but decides against it. Their little table and chair set outside, the trailer itself, they were a shrine to her living memory, not a cold, grey, impersonal gravesite. That's how he wanted to remember her here. Bright, and brilliant and alive. And selfish or no, he wanted to be the only one who could reach her that way. It was _their_ spot, and that's the way it would stay. 

The assistant smiles up a little hesitantly at him as she wrote up his bill. "She must've been a very special woman," she says. 

"She always will be," he tells her. 

The cemetery is quiet. Peaceful. He leans against her gravestone, and tells her everything as the sun drifts across the sky. "Promised you, didn't I ?" He says to Siobhan past the lump in his throat.

The breeze picks up, and wafts the scent of the flowers towards him. And he thinks, that maybe someday, he'll find the will to forgive himself for what happened to her.


	2. AL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coda to Cinemax's Banshee Season 3: Origins, Birthday.

When the thought first crosses his mind, he has to actually pull over onto the shoulder of the road and wonder if Job was onto something and all those old concussions were finally catching up to him.

The memory had snuck up onto him and grabbed him by the throat. He just couldn't shake it. Of all the shit that had happened in those 15 years in prison, of all the threats and taunts seared into his brain (concussed or not), some that stood out sharp and painful like shards of glass, and others a blur, this one was different.

It was just a single conversation really. Unpleasant, sure, but he'd had way worse both inside and outside, before and after. And yet, his cellmate's words now came back to him crystal clear, still leaving an ache in their wake.

Old Al had been the Oxford's definition of curmudgeonly. Curt, rude, gruff, with the standoffishness typical of an old timer. But he'd also had street smarts and experience. Calling Al _kind_ would have been laughable to the point of wrong, even, but he'd been altruistic enough to sometimes share his tidbits of knowledge gleaned over years of survival in the slammer. And those pieces of information, no matter how snarkily disguised had always, always been useful. Lifesaving too, at times.

And so he'd thought they'd had a thing going. The old timer and the young one. A slightly twisted, vinegar infused version of Abbé Faria and Dantés. He'd believed that after a while they'd stoped just tolerating each other, and had actually become, well, _something_ other than just cellmates. At very least, he was sure that he wouldn't wake up with a shiv through the throat.

So three years ago, it had been only the thought of the fact that he was literally _minutes_ away from freedom that stopped him from smashing in Al's nose. 

A small, distant part of his mind that was a relic of who he used to be 15 years prior had shuddered at how the violence had become second nature, his first response to discomfort. It's a very, _very_ small part.

But another, even more miniscule part of him is exponentially horrified at the truth of Al's words. That somewhere, he never stopped being that scared, beaten, lonely kid who would imprint duckling-like on the first older man who'd treat him like an actual person. 

Even before he'd descended into Roscoe's hell, he'd been aware of that flaw of his. _Know thyself_ , right ? He'd thought he'd had that covered. 

He'd known all his life, that what he'd secretly wanted to believe was somebody (somebody older, somebody who'd look at him, and smile at him however small, and call him _Son_ ) actually giving a shit about him was actually just somebody who'd given a shit about what he could _do_ for them. 

He'd known this before Dalton.

He'd known this before Rabbit. 

He'd known this before Al. 

And yet, the blood roared in his ears, fingertips numb and trembling as he hears, but doesn't process the words Al is saying to him.

The _loyal guard dog_ part ? He was fine with it. Sure, he'd had his fair share of bruises defending Al, but the way he saw it, the guys who wanted to pick a fight with him would have picked that fight some way or the other. Better to fight on his terms, defending an ally, an old guy, earning the respect of the other more civilized imnates who'd appreciate that sort of thing even if they still called him an idiot for sticking up for an old dog who couldn't help him should their positions be reversed. 

_Loyalty_ may not have been the right word for it, but he payed his dues. He could watch his own back in a fight. And he knew the safe company, games of poker and scraps of wisdom were worth the price. It's what Wicks had taught him after all, to make himself indispensable.

Other inmates would ask him, taunt him if he was taking it up the ass from Al, or better, if he was _giving_ it up ass to Al and was now protecting his bitch, his property. 

It used to make him chuckle.

Al calling him a stupid son of a bitch was practically a greeting at this point.

But then Al pointed out his daddy issues.

Still, that _wasn't_ what got to him. Every second guy in prison had daddy issues, most of them in here _because_ of those even, in some way or the other. He wasn't special 'cause of that. 

What got to him was that fact that Al recognized it at all. He'd worked hard, for years and years and years to keep a lid on those issues of his. He thought he'd had them dealt with and buried deep enough, even if not totally dead.

What got to him was being told that he'd been played.

He hadn't even realised that they'd been on a fucking _field_. 

Of course, no prison relationship in the history of ever hadn't involved some give and take, some barter of services. He got that. But he'd also believed that Al telling him stories and that one _Knock Knock-Who's there-Fuck you it's clang clang we got bars not a front door_ joke hadn't been for any reason other than to make him laugh after a shit day.

But if there was one thing he'd learned in prison, it was to never doubt his instincts about people. And though their final minutes together had been cruel and dismissive, 3 years and two lifetimes later he'd started laughing right there on the side of the road because he'd been right after all. 

Al _had_ cared, in the end. He'd cared enough to try and keep the only person who'd offered to come visit him far away from the place Al considered nastier than the devil's anus. Al had cared enough to point out the chinks in what he'd thought had been bulletproof armour.

He's never been a particularly spiteful guy. He didn't plan on starting now.

But if there was one thing he did enjoy doing, it was proving others wrong about him.

Al's age was testament to how often he wasn't wrong.

He's got that rush now, the kind that came just before a big take. Before a risk, no matter how calculated, how well planned, but still a risk.

Because he can't help thinking, how badly his most carefully plotted escapade turned out 18 years back, and how well the one thing he did without a whit of prior prep turned out in the long run. Stealing Lucas Hood's identity was the most insane thing he'd done in a very colourful life. Zero premeditation. 

And yet, it was that path which had led him here, to the dusty shoulder of an interstate highway, feeling truly free for the first time in years. Feeling like everything he'd been through, all that he'd suffered, had finally balanced the scales. Maybe it was the blood and tears he'd shed in the last three years that had finally washed away the bars in his mind. But it had all happened because of that one single split second decision that day in the woods outside the Forge.

He kicked the bike to life and turned towards the exit that would take him on the scenic route.

Even if the scene, the spectacle to behold, would shortly be his own self.

* * *

It is, incredibly enough, visiting hours when he reaches. He gulped nervously. His timing was never this good, except while on a job. That sort of good luck felt unnatural. 

The breath is sawing in his chest, mouth too dry to even swallow properly. 

He calls Job. 

"Baby if this call is _anything_ other than to tell me your location and A+ status I will _personally_ -"

"I've got daddy issues." he rasps out.

There is very pregnant pause. 

"Join the club," Job says carefully.

They stay silent for a while. Presently, Job sighs over the line. It sounds tinny. He much preferred to hear Job sigh face-to-face, the resigned exasperation in person.

"I'll come pick you up from whichever shithole motel along the way you've cozied up in."

"I'm at Roscoe," he tells Job.

" _MOTHERFU_ -"

"I'm at Roscoe, _outside_ in the parking lot."

"- _Fucker_ ," Job finishes with just as much feeling.

"Bitch haven't I told you that we make bad decisions _together_ , not you alone using your tiny, beat up little noggin _solo_ ?

I swear the grey hairs I didn't get from 20 months in the Four _-fuckin'-_ Seasons of shit holes, your giving them to me right now. Keep this up and I won't even need to shave my head no more, seeing as you'll have taken care of _that_."

"I need to see someone in here."

"And you haven't listened to a word of what I've been saying." Job says dryly. He sighed again. "Fine, do you need me to get you in-"

"No nothing like that, it's actually visiting hours."

There is another very pregnant pause. He thinks idly that they'll soon have a maternity ward full of pauses at this rate.

"This person, he's got something to do with your daddy issues ?" There's a razor edge to Job's voice, a promise of blood.

"Nah, he's got nothing to do with those. That's all on my old man. Al was my cellmate, for a while towards the end."

"Then what do you need, baby ?"

"Just," He swallowed.

"A voice on the other end. Not just the ones in your head." Job says. "I get it."

He closes his eyes and breathes. Job waits.

"Thank you, Job." He says at last.

"Go slay your demons, baby. And get me a souvenir when your done."

He can't help smiling at that. "Don't think they have much of a gift shop here,"

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Job tells him breezily before disconnecting.

Unbidden, Deva comes to mind. Much the way she did that first time he ever saw her. She flickers to life in the back of his head, smirking at him. "I got daddy issues too, y'know. Runs in the family, " she laughs. There's no malice in her voice, this imaginary Deva of his. 

"Maybe, but I'd wager they aren't anywhere in the same league as mine." He tells her.

She snorts. "So it's a competition now ?"

"You brought it up, kid." 

"Yeah, guess I did, huh ? You know what though, I don't actually mind losing this one. You may be a shitty dad, but I never said I didn't _like_ shitty, now did I ?" Deva beams at him, all freckles and racoon eyeliner. 

He knows he's imagining this whole conversation. But he feels it isn't totally inaccurate either. The thought alone gives him the courage he needed. 

Deva strolls around in the back of his head, schoolbag swinging, sunlight touching everywhere she paces like a sentinel, keeping his panic at bay. He walks to the gate.

* * *

The sun rises in the east, sets in the west, and prison smells like ass. Even in the visiting rooms, apparently. He'd never been in here before, from either side of the glass. The only person who came to visit him while he was in had been Rabbit, and that fateful meeting took place in the laundry room.

He has to bite back a hysterical little giggle at the thought - what a place Rabbit chose to wash his dirty laundry in.

Still, he waits in the hard chair, antsy while they fetch Al from his cell. The guard on duty won't stop eyeballing him. Finally he asks, "You've been in here haven't you ?"

He shrugs. The guard takes it as acquiescence. "Don't get a lot of ex-cons visiting back here," the guard tells him.

He's saved from answering by the appearance of Al, the surprise of which catches him off-guard. He'd half been expecting Al to be dead. The old man looks just as baffled to see him. Ridiculously enough, the situation reminds him of a cat seeing it's own reflection for the first time and falling back on its tail. 

Except, Al's expression hardens almost immediately. He picks up the receiver. "Thought I told you I never wanted to see you here again, son."

He can't help the slow smirk that wends its way across his face. "Yeah, we don't get everything we want. Life's unfair that way."

Al shook his head slowly. "Well then, what are you doing here, you crazy shit ?" He sounded almost fond.

"Proving you wrong."

Al narrowed his eyes. "Jog an old man's memory, why don't ya?"

"Guess it's my birthday today." He winked. "Thought I'd celebrate with the first guy who suggested it." 

"What, you got no pretty young thing to blow your candle for you ?" Al wheezes.

He couldn't help smiling all the same. "I think I finally got out of jail today."

Al levels a look at him. "Finally got that chip off your shoulder huh ?"

He nodded. "Found someone to watch my six too. Three someone's, infact."

"Good. That's good. Maybe it ain't all scrambled up in there from all the hits you took back in the day."

He laughed. "Nah, I'm pretty sure it's even more of a mess now. But it's my mess, with nobody else's shit mixed in."

Al inclines his head. "'S the best we can hope for, ain't it ?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Somebody I loved once told me that people don't change, not really. But we can evolve. Become better. Guess that's what I'm aiming for."

"Ah, the luxuries of the free. Do an old caged bird a favour and quit yapping on about what you gonna do now." Al scowled.

He laughed. "Never thought I'd say it but I've missed your charm, you old bag of bones."

Al flapped a hand at him. "I take it back, you're still a fucking idiot. Even though you were better company than the mook I'm bunking with now. If there ever was a guy who needed to be told when to take a shit, y'know ?" Al nodded meaningfully.

He could feel something unravelling in his chest, a tension he didn't realise had been there at all until it was leaching away now. "I was serious about getting you stuff you wanted. Offer's still open, you know ?"

Al shook his head. "You still don't get it, do you ? They can take that shit away from me, anyone, anytime." He tapped his forehead with a bony, crooked finger. "I got all I need right up here. And they can't take any of it."

"Times up!" the guard calls.

He sighed. "Guess I won't be seeing you around then."

Al smiled a little sadly. "You know what your problem is kid ? You got too much heart. Gets kicked around easily if you don't hide it away. And you just go and give it away for _free_."

He put down the reciever. "Goodbye Al," he said, and stood up to leave. Just a couple of steps away though and the knocking against the glass made him turn back to look. Al pointed to the reciver, his own still held against his ear.

He picked it back up. 

"Old pack's getting pretty darn worn out. Lost the ace of hearts a while back." Al tells him.

He grins. "I'll see what I can do about that." he says. 

As he made to leave while the warden escorted the old man away, the guard who'd spoken to him earlier tapped his shoulder. "He asked that this be given to you," profferring him a beat up old paperback. 

He managed a quick thanks to the guard, taking the book and leaving as fast as he could. As he leaned against the bike, and thumbed through the pages, feeling his throat get tighter, he knew what he was getting Job. 

This copy though, was his to keep.


	3. CARRIE | ANA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coda to Cinemax's Banshee S2E5, The Truth About Unicorns.

He drives from Roscoe like a bat out of hell to reach Banshee just before midnight, hastily calling Job at 100 mph to tell him not to worry, that he's taking another detour. 

"Man, usually, a detour doesn't involve a 180° about-turn back the way you came," Job gripes, but leaves him be. 

The gates slide open even before he can dismount, and Ana is running towards him, guns out and at the ready.

"What happened ?" she questions, low and urgent. "Who's coming for us now? Do I need to call Gordon's parents and them to keep Max a few more days ?" She tries to hand him a gun.

When he doesn't take it, she looks back up.

"Okay, how hard have you hit your head?"

His cheeks hurt with how hard he's smiling. He feels lightheaded, drunk. " _I am no king, and I am no lord, And I am no soldier at-arms,_ " he says to her.

Ana looks baffled for a moment before recognition flickers in her eyes. Her expression softens, and she tucks her guns into her waistband. " _If you were a lord, you should be my lord, And the same if you were a thief. And if you are a harper, you shall be my harper,_ _For it makes no matter to me._ " She took his hand and led him up towards the house.

When they reach the porch, he turns to her, still beaming. " _But what if it prove that I am no harper?That I lied for your love most monstrously?"_

Ana shook her head, confused, a little happy, a little sad. " _Why, then I'll teach you to play and sing, For I dearly love a good harp_." Cradling his face between her palms, she checks him again for any injuries in the light. "The Last Unicorn. What's happening with you, hmm ?"

He shook his head, unable to stop fucking smiling. "I realised something." He stroked her cheekbone, tucks her hair back. "I'm a free man."

She searches his gaze for a long while, and he lets her, content to just hold her and have her there with him. 

At last, she nods. "Yes," her voice shook as she smiled back at him, a little wobbly, still one of the most beautiful things he'd seen. "Yes, you are. Come in and tell me all about it." And she leads him into her house, the book clutched in his hand, and hers wrapped around his.

New York will come knocking eventually, and tomorrow, Max will need Carrie. But for tonight, he has Ana.


	4. DEVA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coda to Cinemax's Banshee Season 1: Origins, Carrie and Deva.

When he meets her a month after she's left for college, the first thing she does when he gets off the bike is tackle him in bear hug. If the bear was very short and skinny. And then she says, "Call me."

"What ?"

"Call my cell. Go on," she replies all too innocently.

He calls her. 

_...I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy..._ croons Bob Marley.

He massages his temples and bites his tongue to hold back the smile. "Yeah, you're definitely mine." he tells her. "And no, I didn't shoot either the Sheriff, or the deputy."

Deva shrugs. "Artistic license."

"I'm kind of surprised that you had this planned and ready."

Deva shrugged again, and tugged on his sleeve to start walking them into the little coffee place. "Why wouldn't I ? You promised."

* * *

"So," Deva says archly, in that way she has when she wants to gauge his reaction before showing her own. "My friends think I have a sugar daddy or a hot, older, secret boyfriend who I'm sneaking off campus to see. This girl saw us at the coffee place last month and started the rumour."

That makes him laugh. "What did you tell them ?"

"That I'm definitely seeing an older man important to me and that it's none of their business."

He snorted. "Yeah I'm sure that went down well."

Deva pours in a her packet of sugar and then looks forlorn at having to walk back to the counter to get more. He pushes his unused one across to her. "They said if it doesn't work out between us, I should pass on your number to them."

He has zero frame of reference as to what college humour is like, and whether this constitutes normal. He hesitates. "I think you'd want to pick your friends with a bit more discretion."

Deva turns to stare at him. "Oh my god. You're turning into a dad _for real_ ! And here I thought you were supposed to be the cool parent !" She exclaims, laughing.

He isn't sure if she means it as a compliment or insult. "Hey, listen," he puts his hands up, surrendering. "Neither your mom nor I went to college, ok ? The other people we met who were our age when we were _your_ age weren't the nicest bunch, so I'm just saying, the 18 to 21 demographic is capable of some pretty brutal shit, college kid or not. Rule of thumb, you want to find the kind of people to watch your back whether you ask them to or not, alright ?"

Deva goggles at him in disbelief some more before she thumps her head on the table, and stays there. "Sometimes, I forget just how fucked up you guys' life was, and I don't even know the details.They're just a bunch of gossips looking for a scandal. They'll move onto some other poor schmuck within the week," she replies muffledly.

He's always been careful about physical affection with Deva. First, when he was just the sheriff and simply could _not_ , and then when Gordon asked him to not take Deva away too, and he _would_ not. And then, the two years he was up in the foothills. 

It's a very tentative hand that he places on her head still resting face down on the table, gently ruffling her short hair. "I could always come meet you on campus, stop the loose tongues wagging. If you'd prefer that," he tells he gently.

Deva grabs his hand and interlaces their fingers, keeping it firmly on her head. She doesn't bother lifting her head off the table, but they can see each other reflected in the glass of the shopfront. 

" _No_. The world had you for long enough. It's my turn now, and I'm not sharing you with anybody else. Except Max." 

She paused. "And maybe Mom, if she asks nicely."

He sees his daughter pretend to not see him wipe his eyes on his sleeve.

* * *

By a small miracle of nature, though mostly Job really, he finds a locket identical to the one he gave Ana all those years ago. This time, he's careful to leave it empty though.

Deva kisses his cheek when he meets her outside the restaurant they're having dinner at and links her arm with his, chattering about how her mom and Max were driving up to see her and stay the weekend for her 19th birthday. "You're staying too, right ?" She raised an eyebrow. 

"If you want me to."

Deva rolled her eyes. "You really gotta to ask ?"

He decides it's time to change the subject and presents her the box, which has a small pink bow around it. He tied the ribbon himself.

"Tied that myself," he tells her.

Deva is very quiet as she gently undoes the ribbon. He doesn't miss how she makes a neat coil of it and pockets it safely. 

"This is the first time you've got me a gift you know," she tells him carefully.

He equally carefully pastes on a shit-eating grin. "Nah, I've given you the gift of my wisdom about life before, haven't I ?"

She rolls her eyes again, but laughs, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. When she opens the box though, she stiffens and he panics.

"You can always come with me and pick something you actually like, we'll exchange it or get something new-" 

" _Dad_." To his abject horror, her eyes are wet.

"This is like the one you got for mom." she whispers, slowly drawing the locket off its cushion, cradling it like the holy grail.

"Ana showed you that ?" He couldn't believe she'd even kept it all these years.

Deva grimaced a bit. "She didn't. I happened to find it years ago, and mom just lost her shit when I asked her about it. I figured you'd given it to her, but she'd never talk about you, y'know ? And she just refused to tell me, demanded I take it off." Deva shrugged. "That was a pretty bad fight. I didn't talk to her for a couple of days atleast, I think."

He'd listened with his breath held. "Well, this one's yours, if you want it. Exchange offer still stands."

Deva looked down at the locket. "No. I want _this_ one." She clicked it open and then exclaimed in surprise. "It's empty ! Thought there would be a picture of a house in here."

He feels a little cold, a little sick, can smell the stench of wood and a dream burning, going up in embers. "Why would there be a house in here?"

Deva looks up at him sharply then. "I used to think that it just came along with the locket, that picture of a house. But it's not, isn't it ? It's actually out there somewhere, right? A home for the two of you."

He looks away. "Once upon a time."

"Where is it ? What happened to it ?"

"It burned down."

Deva looks at him, searching his face for answers. She didn't seem to find any. "I'm sorry," she tells him eventually.

"Yeah, me too." he whispered.

They don't say anything for a while.

"So what should I put in here ?" Deva asked quietly. He reached for the locket, running a finger along the open edge as she held it. He takes her hand.

"A new dream." he tells her.


End file.
